


Shattered Hearts, Fractured Lungs

by WhumpTown



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Dave is also a teacher, Emily is in the FBI, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Hotch is a good dad, Hotch is a teacher, Major Character Injury, School Shootings, Slow Burn, eventual hotchniss, hotchniss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhumpTown/pseuds/WhumpTown
Summary: Emily Prentiss just wants to do her job but a messy case sends her sprawling into the arms of a dying man with a toddler and his weird, broken family.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & David Rossi, Aaron Hotchner/Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan & Emily Prentiss
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**_“The world breaks everyone, and afterward many are strong at the broken pieces." -Ernest Hemingway_ **

They sit in the back of a cramped van. The heat swelters between them. Thick enough to cut. It makes it pretty damn hard to breathe between how close they all have to sit atop one another and the lack of air conditioning in the back. Still, there's no time to complain about the heat. They need to get into their headspaces. They need to be prepared.

The van comes to a halt and before the engine is even cut, the side door is thrown open. They dismount fluidly, the product of constant practice. "We know the target. Don't be stupid. Don't take any chances. We're in and out, are we clear?"

She's not accustomed to working with SWAT but that doesn't matter. They've got an active shooter in an elementary school. Bureaucratic nonsense can be put aside for this. She's so ready to take the building, she doesn't so much as blink an eye as SWAT takes the command. Sure, she's supposed to have it but in the face of getting into this building and saving kids and bossing around a bunch of overgrown toddlers in tactical gear… she's not butting heads over this.

Rifle cradled into her shoulder, she follows the others in.

It's a simple protocol.

"3."

"2."

"1!"

But things are never that simple.

The first room they enter makes her heart drop.

On the floor, is a single man. A single teacher. He's sitting upright against a desk. It's the tiniest little chair she's ever seen and looks even smaller with his large frame sitting against it. His eyes raise to hers and he smiles. It's soft and the crimson of his blood has stained his teeth, but she knows it's taking every bit of strength he doesn't have to produce it. "They're in the cabinets," he tells them.

It takes her a moment to understand him. His voice is raised just above a whisper and strained with his pain but she nods her understanding. He'd moved his students to the cabinets lining the west wall. She moves from the others. There isn't a need for her to be told that she's their best bet in protecting the children saved by their teacher. The children will trust her.

She opens the first door and stifles the soft shocked noise she makes. "Hello," she greets softly. They're fucking pre-schoolers. "Hey, baby." The softly crying boy goes straight into her arms. Behind her, the other's call for medics.

"Prentiss, we're leaving Anderson with you."

She throws a glance over her shoulder and sees Anderson kneeling down beside the teacher. "Okay," she responds, moving to the next cubby.

In total there are six children. Four boys and two girls. She does her best to protect them from seeing their teacher bleeding out on the floor but they're frustrated. Not a single one is happy with her for not letting them go crawl to the man. They cry softly for him and she knows the way that he's writhing away from Anderson's touch that he wants to be with them just as badly.

"Fuck."

Emily whips around. Anderson and the teacher had been pretty loud. Mumbling curses between the two of them as Anderson laid heavy and constant contact on his painful wounds but she hadn't been able to make out much of what they were saying. Not until now. The single syllable word breaks through the tension of the tiny room.

"No!" She moves to her feet but it's too late.

The shooter looms in the doorway. His blood is landing in quick, heavy drops beside him. She knows he's hurt and he's trying to take out as many people as possible. And his current line of sight is the teacher and Anderson.

He unloads as much of his clip as he can before her bullet hits its mark.

Blood sprays, the children sob.

She clears the body, seething with anger as the sounds of ragged breathing and sobbing children are measured out behind her. Scooping the gun up in one hand she shoves it away, watching it clatter across the cheap linoleum tile in the hall. Away from them.

"Suspect is down," she says shakily over the radio piece in her ear. "I need medevac, stat on the west side of the campus! I have an agent and a civilian down and six kids in here like sitting ducks." She turns back into the room and feels her chest sink for the second time today. So much for the protocol. "Anderson?"  
She sinks down beside the teacher and Anderson. The children are horrified by the sight of the blood but they've grown steady with the presence of the other man.

His dark hair is plastered to his skin. She can recognize past the cold sweat and the dark bags under his eyes that he's attractive. "I'm Aaron," the man rasps, wincing as his body is consumed in a wave of pain. His face is dangerously pale but he manages to control his face enough to force himself to relax. This is the first time she's really been able to get a good look at him. But, his furrowed brows and light brown eyes aren't what's important.

The children are gathered close to him are who she needs to be watching out for. Each one is gripping his hands or articles of his clothing. Even as he lies dying, they understand the safety he presents. So, she has to trust their judgment.

He had saved them and he wouldn't change a thing about what he'd done.

She's torn between what she's supposed to do. Anderson's unconscious and he won't last five minutes with or without her help. He's quickly bleeding from what she can only assume is an arterial wound. She's kneeling in his blood. Covered in it. While the teacher- Aaron, she's reminded- needs help too.  
"I'm Emily," she responds. She moves to shake the hand he's weakly lifted when the hall behind them is flushed in beams of light: help. She moves to them, shouting above the radio noises to draw attention to their situation. Leaving the man on the floor and the children with him.

She's greeted at the door and the feeling of relief is mutual when she steps into the hall and sees Derek.

"Princess," he sighs, pulling her into his arms. The high pressure of the situation they're in is unbelievable but to hear her voice through his radio calling for help in a frantic, shaking voice had made his stomach tie itself in knots. Emily Prentiss is a strong woman, unphasable but this a new extreme. It's past conceivable.

He can breathe. "I thought-" she's his best friend. Hell, most days she's his only friend.

She pushes her body closer to his. Behind her shut eyes all she can see is Anderson. The blood- there was so much blood. It seemed to just keep pouring out of him. Anatomically, she knows the human body holds liters but…

"Shh," Morgan runs a hand over her head. This isn't about images. She's not a female agent who has to micro-manage every expression she has to be taken seriously. They're just two agents who have been through the worst case they've ever worked. They're just hurting.

They're just broken.

He knows something isn't right the moment he looks over to his left and finds David Rossi. The older man is practically all of the family he has, as well as his only friend. But in all the years he's known the other man, he's never once seen his resolve so crumbled. His faith so broken.

Dave's name gets caught in the back of his throat. It comes out a mangled, pained cry grunt as an ache settles across his chest. It feels like there are hands pressing down on his chest, keeping him from breathing.

It had taken a lot of arguing for Dave to get himself access to Aaron's ICU room. No amount of doctor talk could push Dave away and no amount of Dave's in-depth explanation of Aaron's "love language" seemed to be doing the job either. But with time and as the scene calmed, Dave was allowed back. Mostly, so that the doctors wouldn't have to be the ones to explain that one of the three casualties had been Aaron's ex-wife, Haley.

It seemed an unfair price to pay but Dave didn't care so long as his trouble-finding prodigy didn't wake up alone and in pain. And Dave made sure he was there at Aaron's bedside for as long as he could be.

"Hotch," he grabs the younger's man's hand. Gently calling out for him as Aaron's eyes find Daves. The first thing he notices is the absence of Aaron's laser-like focus. His eyes are on Dave but it's like they can't quite focus on him. "How are you, son?"

Hotch swallows thickly around the sharp pain in his throat, wincing. After a moment, he manages to control his body and force out a weak, " 'm okay."

That's a blatant lie. For more reasons than one.

Dave is sitting on a bomb. A ticking time bomb.

The doctors had found themselves at a dead end with Aaron. They'd fixed the damage done to his chest. He wouldn't be winning any wet t-shirt contests but his stitches wouldn't rip and he'd heal with time. The problem was that his heart had been under too much strain. He'd lost too much blood. He'd pushed himself too far.

He needs a new heart by the end of the year.

"Okay," Dave whispers, his fingertips stroking back Aaron's hair from his face. "I'm right here," he promises as Aaron's eyes start to drop back down. David Rossi is going to have to watch as the boy he'd practically raised dies slowly and painfully. The transplant teams won't care that Aaron's a single father. They won't care if he saved his classroom of kids in a shooting.

They'll just see a man in need of a heart.

And they'll all see a list of people who need it just as much as Aaron Hotchner.

"I'm right here, son."

She's absolutely seething. The world seems to be falling in around her. There is no balance and she's certainly convinced herself there can't be a God. Not a merciful one, anyways.

"It's not that big of a change," Morgan tries and fails to comfort. He knows it's not that simple. He knows it the way everyone knows it. She's too unstable to work. Not that anyone can blame her. She'd seen awful things. Watched a friend bleed to death. Comforted children in a dark room. And all for what?  
A reassignment.

He stops at the address she'd given him and when he sees the neighborhood and the house… he understands her frustration even more. They're kind of in the middle of nowhere. It's close enough to the middle of everything that stores aren't a long drive but every house on the block is boring and they didn't pass a single person younger than sixty.

"Look," he points to the beat-up old jeep sitting in her neighbor's drive-way. They watch in silence as an older man gets out of the driver's side and a flutter of hope is shared between them as the passenger's door is opened right after, a man about their age sitting in the seat. That optimism is kicked out of place.  
They watch in stunned silence as the younger man crumbles into the other's arms. An oxygen tank pulled behind them.

"We should probably-"

Emily looks away, "no." She looks down at her lap, to the hands she's clenched there in her obvious tension. It's dark and it's twisted but she can't. She can't feel anything past the pain in her own chest. The vulnerability of the scene before her is too much. It's overwhelming.

Morgan can't stand it. He throws his door open and goes to the men, anyway.

She can hear them talking.

"Derek Morgan. I work for the FBI," Morgan informs the pair. He hits it off with the older one. The man's hands had been warm and calloused. He assumes he's the other man's father. "What about you guys?"

Morgan finds himself being bathed in a warm smile. "Teachers," the man says. "I'm Dave and this grumpy son-of-a-bitch is Aaron." Before Aaron can grumble- or gasp- out a retort, Dave amends, "but everyone calls him Hotch."

Morgan nods his understanding, he throws a hooked thumb in the direction of Emily in the car. "I know a thing about brooding co-workers." Sure, Morgan doesn't outright understand what's wrong with Hotch but he knows pissed at the world when he sees it. "That's my partner, Emily Prentiss. She's moving in right over there."

Dave pats Hotch's shoulder, it's nothing more than softly laying his hand on Hotch. He knows his pain bad and Dave isn't aiming to make it worse. "You need any help," he asks, moving in union with Hotch as he eases him onto one of the chairs on his scrappy porch. It's not much but Hotch needs a break before Dave pushes him into bed.

Hotch melts into the old wood of the chair. It's a learning curve but he's a quick study and closes his mouth and tilts his head back, pulling in wheezing inhales as he struggles to breathe. Allowing the oxygen canals to do their job and supply him with a steady stream of cold air. It's not even ten feet from the car to the porch. He'd never expected dying to be this painful.

Or so fucking slow.

"We'd really appreciate that," Morgan says, sincerely.

Dave nods his head, "just give me a minute and I'll meet you over there, okay?" It's just across the yard, no one's going to get lost. He just needs to make sure Hotch is good. Morgan nods his head and ducks out of the yard, heading for his car with a thankful wave and nod.

Attention now turned back to Aaron, Dave can really take into consideration who the younger man's doing. "You cold?" It's hard to tell if his body is trembling with a chill or from the strain of their walk.

Hotch cracks an eye open, chest still painfully heaving as he struggles to breathe. He manages a single look, a glare that says it all. No.

Dave still shrugs out of his light jacket and pulls it up around Hotch's body. "I'll be right back," he promises. "Then to bed with you."

Hotch is almost looking forward to it.

A breeze sweeps through the yard and Hotch turns his face into it. He can feel the sunbathing his skin in warmth, the air blowing past him warmed by the humidity looming in the air. Yet, it's still too cold to go without a coat. That had always been one of Hotch's least favorite parts about Virginia.

He'd hated it even more with a group of preschoolers on the playground. The kids always got too hot and would strip themselves of the thin jackets their parents would send them in. Of course, there is always that one kid whose parents get them a winter jacket on sale somewhere in the middle of September. When the humidity is still too high to be wearing anything besides a thin layer to protect from the breeze. But children are relentless in their pursuits of what makes them happy. And new winter jackets are a great sense of joy for them.

Hmm, he'd never have to deal with that again. He… He already misses it.

Feeling an eerie chill run down his neck, he cracks an eye open and finds the woman from the car staring back at him. She has a box in her arms while Dave and Morgan move past her with an awkwardly built coffee table. As he lifts an eyebrow in confusion, she blinks and lowers her gaze. Both unable to shake the unmistakable feeling of deja vu.

Dave invites them both over for dinner.

Hotch suffers through angry nausea he's hit with at just the scent of the spaghetti. The worst part is that no one can make spaghetti as well as David Rossi. Besides, he can't shake this weird feeling in his chest. And no, it's not the slowly dying from a failing heart feeling. That's distinct and it's just intense never-ending pain. This is… it's deja vu. He's seen this woman and he knows she recognizes him.

There was a point in time when he'd be pissed that anyone is seeing him so weak. He's leaning his weight into Dave, his body too weak to even carry him. He'd lost substantial weight over the last few weeks since waking up in the hospital. They'd given him a year and now he's looking at a month, maybe.  
The damage had been worse than they'd been expecting.

And he's going to leave his son an orphan.

"Daddy!"

Emily watches silently as the brooding man- Hotch, Morgan had informed her- is nearly swept off his feet by an overly excited toddler. He's quickly followed by a brightly dressed blonde woman and a scrawny brunette man. Neither can halt the toddler's progress.

Not that Hotch minds.

"Jack," Hotch manages, his voice a breathless grunt as Jack throws his arms around his legs. It's the first time she's seen anything other than a pained grimace on the man's face. It makes it much easier to see how young the man actually is. The smile takes years off and she's forced to look away as she thinks about just how attractive he is. "Hey, buddy."

The toddler beams up at his father, a toothless mess that just adds to the adorableness of the scene before her.

"Sorry," the scrawny man grunts out. His face is flushed with his concern and anxiety over not being fast enough to stop Jack's head-on collision. "We tried to subdue him as much as possible-"

Whatever excuse he's putting into place is cut off as the brightly dressed woman steps in front of Emily, her hand outstretched. "Hi-ya!" If it's at all possible, she's smiling harder and brighter than the little boy. "I'm Penelope! That's Spencer."

Emily takes the woman's hand, unable to stop an easy smile from spreading over her own face.

"I take it you've met Hotch and Dave?" she asks, throwing a thumb over her shoulder in their direction. She leans in as if telling a secret, "Hotch isn't always so grumpy, I promise."

Somehow, Emily finds that really hard to believe.

"I teach Kindergarten!" She grins, "we all teach in the same elementary school." The way that she looks at the others garners a strong sting in Emily's chest. They're a little family. A wolf pack all centered around the man who Emily can't quite wrap her head around. They seem to love him… she wonders what that's like.

The sudden sound of Jack crying evokes an instant panic in Emily's chest. It reminds her of the school and the kids and the- and the man. Her eyes find Hotch's over the crowded room. He'd been so much worse than but the dark bags under his eyes and his pale face- it's him. He was the man. He is Aaron. The same Aaron.

"Excuse me-" manners aside, she can't breathe. She tears out of the house, knees giving out beneath her. She can hear someone call out her name- probably Morgan, he's the only one who would care. She just hardly gets to the edge of the porch before losing all three bites of the spaghetti she'd managed to get down. It hurts and it only makes the panic swell in her chest.

She's still heaving over the edge of the porch, the cold metal of the railing biting into her skin, when the front door opens. She doesn't care enough to observe who it is. All she hears is the croaking groan of the wood from the pair of rocking chairs behind her. Someone taking a seat.

"I heard about your partner."

She jerks around, brows furrowed. It's Hotch. He still looks like shit and she's sincerely concerned watching him wheeze and fight for a steady breath. He seems fairly unphased and she wonders how long he's been like this- dying. Not that it's any of her business but he really doesn't seem like he should be chasing her around.

"His name was Anderson," he rasps, "right?"

She nods, lowering her gaze. "Yeah," she manages. She chews on her lip, wincing when her tongue moves over her tattered gums and tastes the copper of her blood. "He didn't make it to the hospital."

Hotch shakes his head, obviously displeased. "You saved the kids," he says after a moment. The sun has mostly gone down, leaving just the meager light filtering through the window for them to see one another. It's probably for the best but that doesn't really matter. They've already seen each other at their lows.  
And yet they're still mostly strangers.

"You good," Emily asks, starting to worry a little with the sound of his breathing.

He waves her off, dismissing her with a simple, "this is my new reality until either I die or someone else does."

She grimaces at the plain truth of his statement but he doesn't owe her gentle lies. They're just strangers.

"You said the kids all made it out," she asks.

He nods.

"Good," she whispers.

They can agree there. No matter what that day has taken from them- peace of mind, family, and sleeping at night- at least the kids made it out. No matter what happens to them, at the least the kids are okay.


	2. Chapter 2

_"It's been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful" -F. Scott Fitzgerald_

She comes back the very next day.

It's about noon and she'd seen the blonde one- the happy one, uhm… Penelope! Emily had watched Penelope pull up in the driveway at about eleven-thirty. So, she knows someone's home over there but when she steps out on her porch she's not expecting him to be sitting in that rickety old rocking chair.

Idiot- because she'd seen, from her kitchen window, Penelope helping him outside. The woman was talking his poor ear off.

The icing on the cake, of course, is that she was creating a dialogue for what to say when she got over there.

Out loud.

So, he definitely heard her talking to herself like a crazy person.

"Hey," she says lamely, stopping in her tracks. Now she's in a really bad spot. He looks like he didn't sleep last night and definitely not in a talking mood with the oxygen mask over his face.

Of course, she can't really know that he didn't sleep last night. Spent the whole night breathlessly fighting with Dave over his own health and how he was feeling. Of course, like shit is the truth but he's fighting the clock and he doesn't want to go to the hospital over a little labored breathing. Now he's paying the price. He couldn't even stand on his own this morning. He'd laid in bed until Garcia got here and been forced to ask her to help.

Life is slowly becoming unbearable.

"I need..." she blows out an unsteady breath. She has to clench her hands to stop them from trembling. "Do you have any bananas?"

Idiot.

Stupid fucking idiot.

But he nods. It takes him a moment but he reaches up and pulls the mask off his face, pinning it against his chest. "Just go…" he curses himself, mentally for his inability to do something as simple as breathing. Why should heart failure come with not only a permanent ache in his chest but also a double hit to the lungs? Anatomy is so stupid.

"Ask Pen," he rasps, gesturing with a head tilt that he means for her to go inside. "She'll get you one." He knows there are bananas in there because Garcia always brings him some from the store. He used to eat one every morning with his coffee. Now he can't even stomach the thought.

Insult to injury is the awkward silence that passes between them as Emily steps into his house.

She comes out a moment later, Penelope trailing her. She shows him the bananas from last week. They're pretty brown but she's smiling. "Actually," Emily says, stepping out and smiling between Garcia and Hotch, "the recipes Derek's moms. She, uh, sent it my way to keep me from getting bored."

Garcia nods and Hotch rolls his eyes fondly. He'd spent the last half an hour listening to Garcia go on and on about Emily's sexy little partner Derek Morgan. And, as insufferable as it had been, he had seen the signals the two of them were sharing. The good thing is that he was visibly not the only person unsettled by Garcia and Morgan's flirting.

Reid really hated it.

"She's making banana bread," Garcia tells Hotch, bumping her hip against him.

Emily blushes, "yeah but…" She twists her shoe uncomfortably in the dirt. "I'm not that great of a baker."

Garcia shakes her head, "don't be so hard on yourself! I'm sure it'll be great." She grins, "besides if you need any help Hotch and I are more than willing to be unbiased judges or helpers."

Emily could laugh at the face Hotch makes. He most certainly does not want that. She shakes her head, "I'm gonna go throw these in. If they're good, I'll send you a piece?"

Garcia nods and they watch in silence as Emily goes back to the house.

The banana bread must not turn out so great because she never brings a piece over but the next day she knocks on his door with a plate of pancakes.

He's in a sweatshirt- Georgetown's logo slapped on the front and worn with age- and a pair of grey sweats that make her cheeks flush a little. Nice, idiot, she thinks as she explains she used the leftover bananas to make pancakes and wondered if he'd like some. Mercifully, he either ignores or doesn't see her making intense eye contact with the floor so she doesn't look anywhere near his hips.

After that, they form a strange pattern of her showing up with various baked goods or other types of gifts and such.

Otherwise, they'd both sit in their homes all alone with nothing but the silence. Or, rather, he'd have the silence because she is very loud. He likes to sit on the porch and listen to her blasting music through her house. Occasionally, he knows a song but mostly he just likes the way the rest of the neighborhood scowls at their houses.

It's about nine in the morning when Hotch hears the knocking at his door. For a solid moment, he considers not even answering the door. There's about a ninety percent chance whoever it is he doesn't want to talk to. The number of people who have sent cards, and food, and made weird phone calls is numerous. So, if they don't have the key to his front door or the familiarity to just come busting in- it's not worth his time.

Besides, he's feeling grumpy and he'd like to just wallow for a moment… in peace, alone.

But then the door does bust open.

He's trying to read the paperwork either the hospital or the school sent- obviously, he hasn't gotten very far into it if he can't even tell what the papers are for. All that he knows is there are vibrantly colored sticky notes where his signature should be. But he isn't just going to go singing his name willy-nilly. He's not that far gone.

He looks up and Emily Prentiss is blindly- her hands are over her eyes for some reason- trampling through his living room.

"Can I help you?"

At the sound of his voice, her head jerks up. Two paired fingers separate and she looks just like one of his students as she lowers her hands and grins at him. It's an awkward little grin but it's not bad. "Uh," she motions behind her to the door. "Sorry about that… Dave, he, uh, he told me that you'd be home all day and you are home all day and if I needed anything to just-" she grimaces as if she's just considered how strange this is. "You didn't answer and Dave said you always answer and you do and I didn't want something to be wrong…"

She stops talking.

Mercifully.

Hotch grunts, "I do, normally."

Somehow, the only good thing to come out of the last month is that Hotch gets to spend his days at home. Besides the drastic rise in homeschoolers in their town, the school had been gracious enough to handle his disability checks. Of course, everyone had smiled and thanked him for what he'd done to save his kids but Hotch is still very aware of the lawsuits and trouble David Rossi would cause if everything hadn't gone smoothly.

Being the semi-famous author of a very successful line of children's books earns Dave that power. Although, Hotch has seen him use it for good and for… well, mostly sex.

The downside is he gets pretty lonely at the house.

Jack goes to his aunts. Haley's sister Jessica has been a huge help over the last few weeks. Reeling from the loss of her sister, she'd been more than happy to keep her only family close. Even if it's just her ex-brother-in-law and nephew. Not that Aaron and Jessica's relationship was severed just because of Haley and Aaron's divorce.

It had been painful but not ugly. It had never been about the devotion they felt for one another or even the love.

Life just gets complicated.

A few teachers had still managed to get some more leave time and with Hotch's heart actively failing, Reid, Garcia, and Rossi are on the receiving end of lots of understanding when it comes to asking for time off. They have a schedule set into place now: Garcia brings him lunch, Reid picks up Jack, and Dave brings stuff to make dinner for all of them.

It's simple but affected. Daily and boring.

"Now this is going to make me sound like a dumbass-"

He's known Emily Prentiss for all of a week. He excludes the school thing from memory and the timeline. It's better for his mental health- which isn't doing much better than his physical health if he's being honest. The problem is, the woman is kind of crazy. It's in an endearing kind of way but still.

Now he's sitting in her living room. She'd come barging into his house just thirty minutes before, a hand over her eyes. He'd had to listen to her awful explanation for that while slowly and painfully making his way across the whole five feet separating their houses. The hand over her eyes had been in case he was naked because she may invade his personal space but she really doesn't want to see his junk.

He's not entirely sure where this comfort of hers is coming from. All he does know is that Dave has swindled his way into every aspect of Hotch's life and now Hotch has his neighbor's phone number. It's for "emergencies", of course. In case Hotch, God forbid, needs help and his only contact is his batshit neighbor.

"I mean it, Aaron," she's standing right in front of him with two spices in her hands. "It's really going to make me sound like a dumbass here but what exactly is the difference between Cinnamon and Nutmeg?"

God, she's crazy but she's funny and hasn't passed any judgment on his inability to get dressed. Just like now while she's standing in a simple, well-loved tanktop and work jeans and he sits in his flannel pajama bottoms and a Hanes t-shirt that's seen better days five years ago.

But they kind of passed lots of mile markers for judgment a long time ago. As in, last week.

He'd watched in silence as she emptied the contents of her stomach over the railing of his porch and she'd put pressure on the bullet wound that tore through his side. It's why it was so easy for her to, after that night on the porch, to bring over a plate of pancakes and offer to grab him stuff from the store. Of course, he'd told her he was good and he, mostly, was.

Which is in direct consequence for why he's here now.

"Nutmeg tastes like Christmas," he explains because he has no idea how he's supposed to explain this to a grown woman. "What are you making?" He's suddenly very worried for whatever dish she's making. Especially if she put nutmeg where cinnamon is supposed to be. It's freaking September and, if he's being honest, he really hates Christmas. That might make him too biased to figure out if she's really messed up though.

She grimaces at the containers in her hand. She pulls her lip into her mouth and mumbles, "apple pie."

His grimace is too much and if she weren't so bummed with the aspect that her apple pie is most definitely ruined she might laugh. His accent is thick enough for her to comfortably assume he's from the south not to mention he's got a lot of that southern gentleman charm.

"How much nutmeg did you use?"

Her face says it all.

He places both his fist on the sides of the chair and forces himself onto his feet. If Emily weren't standing in silent horror that he might fall over or pass out or a hundred other things she might lend a hand. Then again, they haven't established those boundaries and she can't flawlessly just know like Dave does.

"Let me see the damage," he grumbles but she can see that he's not actually mad; he's just wary of what she's done. He's strange in that way. For a man who has made a career around working with children, he's got a horrible resting face.

She lets him set the place, pointing him in the direction of the kitchen. It's only a few feet but they make it two-steps before she decides she can't do this silently watching thing. "Do you-" she offers him her forearm, the same way she'd seen Dave do the other afternoon.

He scowls at her arm but after a moment, he takes her hand. His skin is startlingly cold and his hand trembles until he settles his grip. It's surprisingly easy and she doesn't think much of it. At least he's not dead weight to lug around. She's had plenty of people hang onto her, she doesn't even mind this.

"I think I might have used too much nutmeg," she concludes before he can see the damage and rule her incompetent. It's a warning.

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye… too late for the incompetent thing, she decides. He already thinks she's a moron.

Rightfully so but still…

She'd known he was tall. It's not that hard to see but as she's standing beside him, his body pulled in and hunched over, he's still towering over quite a bit. He's a big man and he smells nice so he's got a lot going for him. Too bad about the heart thing because he's kinda cute.

"That's all…" she moves him to the kitchen table and brings the pie to him. She really doesn't want him falling in her kitchen. Dave likes her and she'd like to keep it that way. Besides, there would be so many awful and weird questions to answer if she had to take him to the hospital.

And now he's sitting in horror at this pie in front of him.

"That's all…" he repeats himself, shaking his head in disbelief. The pie is covered in a brown powder and he's slowly processing that it's all nutmeg.

She grimaces and nods.

He looks up at her, mouth open but disbelief making it impossible for him to say anything. He's seen a lot of weird things. Preschoolers are… they're a piece of work but this is testing every bit of training he has.

"It's bad, isn't it?"

He nods, "definitely."

Huffing in a way that he recognizes from dealing with one too many headstrong four-year-olds, she places her fist on her hips. She scowls down at the pie. It's cooked and it smells okay but if she's been too generous with the nutmeg there's no way that's going to taste good. After a moment she hums and turns around, pulling out two forks she comes right back to the table.

"Well," she says with a tilt of her head, "Christmas apples can't be that bad, right?"

He takes the fork being offered to him with no interest whatsoever in eating this pie but it's kind of funny and he's having a good time. Together they break the baked dough and get a bite-sized piece. He's fairly adamant but somehow it's got nothing to do with his tricky stomach or the fact that he hasn't been able to keep down much besides water and saltine crackers. It's going to taste like shit and it's exciting.

Emily chokes on her bite coughing and grimacing as she rushes to spit it out. To his credit, Hotch swallows his bite. "That was honestly the worst apple pie I've ever tasted," he tells her, honestly.

She laughs and that feels so good. She hasn't laughed in a long time.

He shrugs, "I'm not gonna lie to you."

She tosses her fork on the table and shakes her head at the pie. So much for that.

"How exactly-" he bites down on the wave of pain that rocks through his body as he forces his legs underneath him. He stands, trembling and waving slightly with the effort it takes. "Why were you making apple pie so early in the day?"

Emily is still frowning at the pie so she doesn't even look up at him. "Bored," she mumbles. She's upset about her pie. Damn… this whole nutmeg vs cinnamon thing is stupid. They look exactly the same so they should taste the same, right?

"Maybe you should try something else," Hotch says, one hand still keeping his balance on the table. "Baking just doesn't…"

Emily frowns at him, "I like baking, though!"

Hotch looks away, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow. "Baking doesn't like you," he mumbles.

She smacks his shoulder and he chuckles- this isn't the first failed attempt of her's he's tried. There was the cookies from Monday (that were burnt on the bottom and raw on top) and the banana bread he'd only seen but- they could have killed a lesser man let alone him and his broken heart.

"Maybe I can try cooking," she proposes.

He shakes his head, "are you gonna make me eat that too?"

She clicks her tongue, faking offense. "What, are you afraid?"

He smiles and it takes her breath away. He's got high, sharp cheekbones and when he's not carrying so much tension in his shoulders it's so much easier to appreciate just how soft his dark hair looks. Her neighbor is hot. She's not sure if he knows that though.

"A little," he admits playfully, "but maybe you'll be better at cooking than you are baking."

She crosses her arms and scowls down at her pie. "I don't think it's going to take a lot to be better at cooking than baking."

He makes a soft sound, "you said it, not me."

She shakes her head at him but there he is smiling again. She can't even be mad. "Maybe I'll make dinner," she proposes, tucking her hands under her armpits as she thinks. "Are you interested?"

Honestly, no but he doesn't want to pass up on hanging out with her. So he nods.

"Six o'clock should be enough time to cook something, right?"

Jesus, she's going to kill him.

"Why don't I come over and help?"

Oh, she hadn't thought of that. She nods, "okay. You wanna come over at three, then?"

It's dangerous, without a shred of doubt there, but his heart does this little flutter. "Uh," he has to clear his throat. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

Except three rolls around he's a no-show. Three turns into three-thirty and she's not trying to be a buzzkill but the recipe calls for caramelized onions and she has no idea what that means but she hopes it doesn't mean what she thinks it does. Carmel on onions? Sounds disgusting.

"Knock, knock?" She's already barged into his house once today so it really shouldn't be that big of a deal but something doesn't feel right. She can't shake it and she certainly can't just… leave. "Hotch?" God, she hopes he's just in the bathroom.

He isn't.

"You okay?" she falls to her knees beside him. She'd never been this far into his house. Mostly, she'd never passed the living room but now she's kneeling in his hallway and can see his bedroom from here. As much as she'd like to evaluate that- because the space is strangely neat and God, who knew the bare minimum of a cleanroom was such a perfect green flag-

Right-

He shakes his head.

Oh.

"Should…" she knows he hates the hospital, who doesn't? But… he's gasping for breath on the floor, his pale hand clutching at his chest. The sight is very overwhelming and hurting her deeply because it's bringing feelings back that she thought were getting better. "Do I need to call-"

To the school and to the blood pooling between their bodies.

He nods. He's terrified but just seeing Emily brings some strange comfort. Her and her awful cooking might just get him through this. He won't die on this floor. Not on this ugly ass rug Dave made him put down.

The ambulance comes, bounding the sirens shrill sound up and down the block. Making a spectacle out of an awful experience.

He winces when the IV goes in and she just stands, bouncing from foot-to-foot awkwardly watching. It's not until he's on the gurney, fighting the drugs rushing through his system. "You can come," he rasps but no one can hear him clearly from behind the masks. Reaching up to pull it away, several hands swat his hand away and he makes a grunted, annoyed sound at the back of his throat.

An EMT leans over and calms him back down before Hotch starts trying to fight his way back up into danger. "Easy, buddy." The EMT pushes on Hotch's shoulders and it's not a lot of force but Hotch isn't strong enough to fight it. "The pretty lady can come, okay? Just settle down."

She stays with him and tells herself it's because she doesn't want him hurting himself but she really doesn't want to leave his side until she knows he's going to be okay. There's no hand-holding because they're still at the point where they smack shoulders and stand feet apart but they've only known one another for a week and- Emily can't fathom what she's supposed to do if he dies in the back of this shitty ambulance.

"Can you-" the EMTs give him something that nearly knocks him out on the spot but his breathing gets better and he stops gasping and wheezing. He just lays supine on the gurney. Limp. "Dave?" He can't keep his eyes open but he hears Emily make what he thinks are words of confirmation but his sentence didn't exactly make sense so maybe she didn't understand him.

He's pulled under by the warmth spreading through his limbs before he can repeat himself or worry with it.

"You can't go back there, baby."

Emily blinks and there's an older woman stopping Emily's zombie-like march beside the gurney as they rush Hotch off to the side. She can't tear her eyes off of him. Watching numbly as they cut his shirt down the middle and start to attach to electrodes to his alarmingly pale chest.

Her hands are trembling as she pulls her phone out of her pocket. "Dave?" she's breathless with the anxiety swelling in her own chest. "I'm so sorry-" and she's crying. Why? He's not her friend? He's her neighbor who she's known for a whole freaking week and yet- And she can't deal with Dave being mad either. But he isn't.

The minute he steps into the hospital, he comes right up to and pulls her into a hug. She sobs into his arms and he lets her because he's seen Aaron this bad before. He knows it's unnerving.

"Do you have any news?" Dave asks her and she shakes her head. He squeezes her arm and smiles at her tear-stained face. "I'll be right back, okay? They know my face, I might be able to wrangle some news out of one of the nurses."

She nods her head and watches dejectedly as he walks away.

Aaron had told her that Rossi had slept with many nurses while he was in the hospital. She's thinking about the way he'd smiled when he told her that when she falls into the waiting rooms stiff chairs.


	3. Chapter 3

"So-" Emily's scowling at one of the vending machines, Jack on her hip. "They've only got one pack of those black forest gummies," she says, looking over him. "You gonna be stingy with the gummies?" she peers closer to the glass. "We can go halves and I'll get the gummy worms too?" Of course, she's mostly- really- talking to herself but there's not much else left to do.

They'd trusted her to watch after Jack. The whole FBI thing is definitely working in her favor but if she cared enough to get Hotch to the hospital and sit in the waiting room for the upwards of two hours then Jack is pretty safe with her. Besides, Dave left the minute he showed up and when Penelope and Reid had finally arrived at the hospital they'd been quick to follow back in the direction of Hotch.

But Emily knew that had to do with Dave "fucking his way through problems" (definitely not her words- okay, she gives, Hotch had slipped up in a less than sophisticated moment of vulnerability and huffed it out while waiting for the oxygen canal running under his nose to do its job). So, in the end, whatever Dave was back there doing was of more danger than leaving Jack with her.

Jack gets a good old kick out of putting the dollars inside the vending machine. The happy squeal he lets out each time the machine whirs to life and pulls the bill from his hands is priceless. Fortunately, he gets pretty sidetracked the moment his gummies hit the bottom of the machine.

"So," she guides him back to the blanket on the floor. He's got this fancy little spread- the blanket is padded and it's pretty comfortable to sit on. "What's your favorite food?"

Jack's already got two gummies shoved into his little mouth, chomping away. He perks up when he hears a familiar word. "Food," he repeats, plopping down on the blanket. He curls his legs underneath his body and brings his right hand to his mouth. He repeats food again, making the sign.

Is… is he signing the word food to her?

She's stumped for a moment but instead of just googling it to find out, she just presses on with her original question. "What's your favorite food, Jack?" She brushes his hair up out of his face, smiling at him.

He smiles right back- he's got his father's dimples. "Jaunzanya," he informs her.

What- Jaun… zanya…

"What, buddy?"

He looks up at her like she's the one being silly. "Lawnzanya."

Lasagna! "Oh!" she nods, "you like lasagna."

He nods and offers her a gummy. It's pinched between wet and sticky fingers because toddlers are disgusting but so adorable. "No thank you," she says tapping his hand so that he pulls his offer back to himself. Leaning away from him, she opens his diaper bag. "Oh, you've got-"

"-egos!"

So, he's a legos fan. That makes this so much easier.

He crawls and sits in her lap, and together they build a wall. It's very colorful but the proper manner of legos is lost to both of them. Besides, Jack just like matching the colors to each other.

"We're spending far too much time like this," Dave mumbles. "You and I." He huffs at the dirty look Aaron shoots his way. With a grunt, he moves himself to the edge of his seat. Closer to Aaron so that he can reach out and take his hand as he prepares to deliver this news. "I've, uh,..." he recalls the last time they were like this.

Aaron's heart was on the mend so they thought and he was making steady progress. That only been a few weeks ago but they'd been so hopeful. Then Dave had delivered the news about Haley. That she had not been spared the way he was in the final blows of that shooting. That she'd bled out in her classroom.

"Bad news or good news?" When Aaron lifts an eyebrow in confusion he mends, "do you want the bad news or the good news first."

Aaron looks up at the ceiling. Frowning at the harsh lights beaming down at him. "I'll take the bad first," he whispers, turning his head to watch Dave from there.

Dave nods his head. Straight to the point. "They want to place you on synthetic adrenaline," Dave informs him. Aaron nods. Doesn't seem all that bad. "You'll have to remain hospitalized while on the drug." He winces and Dave knows he's delivered that final blow. He gives him a moment to think. Watching as Aaron's fingers dance over his sternum, tracing where his heart is under his skin.

He turns back to Dave, "what's the good news?"

Dave knows better than to hope for Aaron to go unflinching into this new course of action. He hates being in the hospital and it's going to take a toll on his mental health. Dave's not sure if they can really win this situation.

He smiles, "your son's in the waiting room." Dave feels the mood lighten as Aaron smiles too. "I believe none-other-than your very pretty neighbor is sitting with him."

Aaron's still smiling as he groans, "Dave!"

The older man shrugs, still smiling. He's got to pull somebody's leg around here. Things are so damn gloomy. "So," Dave takes Aaron's hand. Giving it a light pat. "What's the course of action?"

The smile falls right off his face. "Oh," he looks away. "I-" he doesn't want to stay in the hospital. It doesn't matter if it buys him time. They're just dragging this all out and it's better… it's better if he stops fighting. The sooner their lives can go back to normal the better.

"Why don't I give you a minute to decide, huh?" Dave asks, squeezing his hand. "Let me go get your monster and Emily. You haven't seen either yet and you gave Emily quite the scare."

He nods. Right. Jack and Emily. Maybe bring a fraction of normalcy to this hell of a day.

Dave pats his hand, already knowing the answer. "Alright, kiddo." He stands, pushing his old knees into motion with an audible creak. He hovers for a moment, eyes cast to the side as he thinks. "You promise me you'll really think about it?" He looks down at Aaron, "I know… it's hard, I know son but you've still got people who want to see you through this." He sighs a little and pats Aaron's thigh, "brighten up, huh? Those bags under your eyes are bound to scare both of them off."

Rossi's smile is tight-lipped but the sentiment is still there.

The words are still heavy.

Hotch looks up at the ceiling. There's just not a point to keep going. Haley's dead. They'd gotten their divorce months before, actually nearly two years ago but she was still his friend. Still his high school sweetheart and the mother to his son…. Jack. He'll leave Jack an orphan at three years old.

He could fight for Jack, right? He could push through this and wait for a heart.

But the pain. It's excruciating.

"Daddy?"

He turns and smiles as Jack releases Emily's hand to come barreling into the room. Jack makes quick work at scaling up the side of the bed and Hotch is fully prepared for the toddler he takes to his side- Jack had learned his lesson about hitting daddy in the chest.

Hotch keeps looking up at the doorway, to where Rossi's tone has dropped to a hush as he speaks to Emily. To her credit, she doesn't react to anything he's saying.

"You played legos?" Hotch asks, reaching over and tickling Jack's sides. "Did you really play legos with Miss Emily?" He realizes his mood has been dramatically shifted with Jack here. He can't even think about rolling over and dying with Jack in his arms.

"Just Emily is fine," Emily says as she steps into the room, waving to Rossi as waves to the trio and leaves. "Really," she reiterates. "No need for silly formalities."

Jack isn't listening to them at all. He's curled into Hotch's side and managed to wrangle his thumb into his mouth.

Hotch runs his hand over the top of Jack's hair, smiling. "Dave told me you watched him today," he says. "Thank you, you shouldn't have had to do that."

Emily sits down in the chair by his bedside, she shrugs it off. She's pretty sure it's not that weird for neighbors to watch each other's kids. Besides, he would watch her if she had them. "He was basically an angel," she says, smiling back when Jack pokes his head and makes a happy little noise. "He's a cute little guy."

Hotch turns back to his son. God… she likes his kid? Stupid heart. Stupid dying heart.

She pulls her phone out, "besides I already know how you can repay me." She sits on the edge of the seat, "so the recipe we were going to cook-" She sticks her tongue out of her mouth as she concentrates on pulling it up on her phone. "It-uhm- It called for carmelized onions and so I have a question."

He smirks in preparation, knowing whatever it is that she's about to say is going to baffle him. How had she managed to get as far as she did in life not knowing how to cook or even bake?

"That doesn't mean to like… to like put caramel in the pan with the onions right?" She makes a face, grimacing because she knows this has to be a stupid question and because he's already smiling. It makes her cheeks get bright with embarrassment.

It doesn't take much but he laughs so hard he starts to wheeze. That dangerous chest clenching kind mixed with uncontrolled laughter. It's so bad a nurse peeks her head in to check on them and both of them get stink eye because of it. He's such a bad influence.

"Sorry," he rasps throat sore but a smile on his face. "No," he finally answers, having to make dramatic inhales in through his nose to compensate the breathless feeling. "No, you just kind of move the onions around th-" he waves his hand. "Forget it," he mumbles. "Dave can show you."

Her face drops.

"I-uh-" He knows it's because of her and Jack. This stupid feeling in his stomach is probably just another system of heart failure and not a crush. He knows they're the only reason. "They're going to start treating me with this medicine but I have to stay hospitalized for it."

She nods slowly, taking in what this will mean for her. "Okay," she nods her head. It could be worse. It could be so much worse. "Does that mean that I won't get to torture you with my awful food."

His chest aches too much to laugh so he just smiles and nods, "I'm sure you'll find something worse."

She smirks, "that's fair."

She doesn't see him after that for a whole week. To her credit, she starts her desk job back at the FBI Monday. When she checks her phone at her desk, she sees he's sent her a text: _"I know you're due back today at work so I just wanted to wish you luck. At least you're not here with me. Dave is forcing me to go on a walk"_

It makes her smile. So when she goes to acquire her second cup of coffee she replies: _"I'm sorry Dave's being mean to you but my day is going pretty good. Thanks for checking up on me."_

He's just been returned to his room when he gets her text. The simple walk around the walk takes it out of him. The adrenaline leaves him shaky and despite how bone-tired he is, Dave insists on keeping up a simple routine and lots of walking. He understands he needs to be strong for heart surgery but it's very taxing. He replies: _"No problem. There's not much else to do around here besides think about what everyone else is doing."_

It makes her stop in her track. She hadn't considered how bored he must be up there. There's nothing to do.

They keep up a daily exchange.

He sends her a picture of the toast he's given for breakfast.

She sends him a picture of her coffee.

They talk about whatever simple exercise Hotch is forced to do. She learns he hates the gardens because of how people are there he feels like everyone's watching him struggle. She tells him that she feels similarly hopeless spending all her time at the desk.

At dinner, she live text him every minor thing about her cooking adventures.

He sends her a picture of jello or pudding and asks if he's going crazy if he actually considers wanting to trade with her.

Saturday comes around and- she has no idea what to do with herself.

From eight to ten she piddles in the yard. Leaves have started falling so she rakes them. Finishes her yard so she goes to Hotch's and starts getting his as well. It gets too hot by ten-thirty so she goes inside to make a nice brunch. She's trying not to burn waffles when she hears a car pull into Hotch's parking lot.

Fuck. She hasn't heard from Aaron in two days.

"Is everything alright?" She'd just pulled the plug on the waffle maker, running out of her house wiping pancake batter on her pants as she went. Messily, she pushes hair back out of her face. She looks like a hot mess.

Dave raises an eyebrow at the sight of her and, after a moment, goes back to his pace pre her running out at him. "It's as good as can be expected," he replies walking up the stairs to Hotch's home. He opens the door and waits for her, "you coming?"

She scurries in after him.

He pulls a bag out of the hall closet and keeps heading down the hall, looking back for her to follow the whole way. "I'm making Aaron a bag," he explains. "We have the emergency ones but he's running a little low on certain things and is threatening bodily harm is someone doesn't let him shave too."

She can't really imagine that; Hotch threatening someone.

Dave rolls his eyes as he throws Hotch's bedroom door open, "he's a drama queen."

Once again Emily is taken aback by Hotch's neat room. Everything carries a dark green pattern. The curtains are blackout which she finds to be both humorous and innovative. They're dark black but he's covered them in dark green curtains. By all means, it still looks like a single man's bedroom but… as if he'd lived with a woman. Well, to be fair, his taste in just about everything is better than hers.

Tasteful. Personal.

She likes it.

"Can you hand me the-" Emily follows Dave's finger to Hotch's bed. "Yeah, the throw blanket." The blanket he's asking for looks old and worn to the point it's hard to tell what it's original pattern was. "It's his favorite," Dave explains, packing it down into the bag.

The thought makes her grin. His favorite blanket.

Dave opens one of Hotch's dresser drawers, revealing a drawer for just sweatpants. When she sees the grey sweatpants he'd worn last week her cheeks flush. "So," Dave throws the grey sweats into the bag oblivious to Emily's reaction. "You gonna come and see him?"

Emily slowly exhales to force herself to calm down. Answer the man's question… what was his question? She goes with the awkward nod and smiles when he smiles- biting down the odd sense she's just tangled herself into a spider's web.

"Great!" He throws in a few books from a bookshelf Emily hadn't originally seen but now that she does she frowns at it. He's a collector, she'd assume. Lots of old books but a few classic Y/A novels. Even The Hunger Games. It's an impressive amount.

"I'm headed there now," he says. "I can put your name on his log so you can get up there anytime you like." He picks the bag up and throws it over his shoulder. "Or you could come now?"

Oh. So, Emily had agreed to see Hotch. In the hospital.

"Oh," she shakes her head. "I'll-uhm-"

Dave pats her shoulder, "it doesn't matter when you come over." His smile is soft. She knows he loves Aaron. Hotch had once made a comment about what all Dave had done for him as a kid but no one had told her the extinct. She's sure it's a lot.

He winks at her, "he'll be thrilled to see you, Emily. Everything seems to have him down except for those silly texts you two share."

And she'd be lying if she said she didn't think about that last line all day. That her text, something so silly and off the wall, were making him smile. Pulling out her phone she shoots him a simple message: _"I'm gonna come visit you on Wednesday. Should I bring you tea or a milkshake?"_

She can hear the excitement in his text back: _"Emily Prentiss are you sneaking me in contraband?... milkshake, please"_

She rolls her eyes, " _only if you go on your walk with Dave without whining about it like a giant baby"._

_"Hey, that's not very nice Emily… but I promise to be on my best behavior."_

_"Good."_

She smiles down at her phone.

It's just as things are getting settles once again that they get worse.


End file.
